


So This is Not the Place

by dessert_first



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessert_first/pseuds/dessert_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser is standing on the sidelines, watching the dance floor, and Ray... Ray is dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This is Not the Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jamethiel Bane](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jamethiel+Bane).



Fraser is standing on the sidelines, watching the dance floor, and Ray... Ray is dancing. Has been dancing for hours, an elemental creature, air and fire, spinning, swaying, writhing. The lights flickering over the dance floor make his hair gleam when he chances to dance through them, and his face is lost in bliss, animated, glowing.

Two women are dancing with him, one pressed up against his back and the other to his front, and the three sway as one, their rhythm flawless, sinuous, blatantly sexual. If Fraser were any kind of gentleman, he would look away, but he isn't, clearly. Not when it comes to this. Not when Ray is dancing.

He's still not sure why Ray asked him here tonight. He knows Fraser can't dance well, isn't easy on his feet the way Ray is. Several people have asked him to dance, but he has declined. He knows he will only embarrass himself on the dance floor.

He isn't anything like Ray.

It's been a long day, and Fraser is tired. Still, he'd come along on this outing hoping to make peace with Ray tonight. Had agreed to go out with him in an attempt to return to their normal routine, the customary easiness they'd come to develop between each other. But they've lost that, along the way. In Canada, perhaps, on the trail of Franklin's hand. Or perhaps even earlier, during their capture of Muldoon, or upon Ray Vecchio's return. Something had fractured, cracked, in their duet, gone unnoticed, yet the crack has kept widening over time, and nothing is the same. But when their adventure had ended, Fraser had still returned with Ray to Chicago, because he'd found he could no longer bear the thought of making do without that bright presence in his life.

Partnership, his father had said, was like a marriage.

And marriage does involve some degree of compromise, of course.

So Fraser had left the wild, terrible, beautiful emptiness of the far north, and come to Chicago with Ray; crowded, busy, chaotic Chicago, where Ray was, and where, Fraser had realized, he could do the most good. He was most needed. He was... almost happy.

Out on the dance floor, the woman pressed to Ray's back puts her hand on his jaw, turns his head in her direction, and whispers in his ear. He grins and nods, never breaking the rhythm of their dance, and leans forward to speak into the other woman's ear. She shakes her head, smiles, and leans up to kiss his cheek, then turns and dances off into the crowd, where several pairs of arms reach out to pull her in.

She vanishes without a trace, swallowed up by the tide of people.

Ray dances some more, the woman behind him pressing herself impossibly closer, and Fraser is beginning to feel like a voyeur. He turns to leave, weaving his way through the crowd, heading for the exit. He will call Ray in the morning, apologize and claim an upset stomach. It's not untrue, though the achingly hollow sensation he feels is likely due to emotional reasons, not any physical ailment.

He is almost to the door when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy," Ray says. "You bailin' out on me?"

Fraser stops, takes a deep, calming breath, and turns to face his friend. The woman Ray was dancing with is just behind him, peering at Fraser over Ray's shoulder, her hand entwined in Ray's, like he'd tugged her along to come find Fraser. "Not at all. But it hardly seems you are in need of my company." He nods politely at the woman, who stares at him speculatively for a moment, then nods back. "Besides, I find I'm a bit tired."

"That's okay," Ray says. "I'm going home, too. I'll give you a ride."

"Ray, I don't think--"

"Good," Ray says. "You keep not thinking. C'mon." Ray slides the hand on Fraser's shoulder around, his arm snaking to half-embrace Fraser, and heads for the coat check, his other hand still firmly clasped in the woman's. "Fraser," Ray says, herding their strange little trio along, "I'd like you to meet my friend Gina." He brandishes their tickets and collects their coats.

"Hey," Gina smiles at Fraser, a wider, more open smile this time, and tosses her long dark mane of curls. Fraser flinches.

"Ah," he says. "Are you certain--"

"Not doing so good with the not thinking there, Frase," Ray says. He helps Gina and Fraser into their bulky winter coats, shrugs on his own and slips on his gloves. When they are all ready, he herds them out again until they are finally outdoors, the light of the streetlamp burnishing Ray's hair, reflecting off the gloss on the woman's lips.

"Really, Ray, a walk will do me good," Fraser protests. His breath comes out in white clouds, and he draws his coat more tightly around himself.

"We're on the other side of town, Frase."

Fraser sighs. It seems there will be no graceful exit for him tonight. "All right, Ray. Thank you."

Ray opens the door for him, leans the seat forward and waits for Fraser to settle in before he puts the seat back for Gina.

In the small confines of Ray's car, Gina and Ray's scents are overwhelming. Skin and sweat and perfume, deodorant and aftershave and assorted hair care products... a cacophony of sensation assaults Fraser. Their frenetic dancing has heightened the scents, making them ripen until Fraser can almost taste them on the tip of his tongue. Ray's scent in particular is heady; both musky and sweet. Fraser closes his eyes just for a moment, the better to tease out the individual scents.

"Hey, buddy," Ray says. "We're here. Pitter patter."

Fraser sits up, startled. When he looks out the window, it's not the Consulate he sees--instead, they are parked outside Ray's apartment. Ray gets out and goes around to open Gina's door, helps her out onto the sidewalk, then folds the seat forward and looks expectantly at Fraser.

"Ray," Fraser says. "What--"

Ray smiles at him, bounces a little on the balls of his feet. "Frase," he says, "what's a guy gotta do to get you to stop thinking?"

Fraser blinks. "Why would you... Ray?"

Gina is standing there beside Ray, just looking at Fraser. She looks faintly amused, hand on one hip in a pose less provocative than considering. When she tilts her head, a fall of dark curls tumbles down one shoulder.

"Ray?" Fraser says. "You don't--"

"C'mon, Frase." Ray's got his hands jammed in his pockets, and there are lines of tension on his face. "Come upstairs."

He frowns. There is a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach and his face feels hot. He shakes his head, slowly, and can't seem to stop shaking it.

Ray curses softly. "Hey, Gina," he says, "Could you give us a minute?" He sets one gloved hand in the small of her back, and walks her to the doorway of his apartment. Opens the security lock and lets her in, and she leans her body into his and loops her arms around his back. Pulls him in for a kiss. Her hands move lower, exploring, until Ray breaks the kiss. He lets his head fall back, and his chest heaves with a deep breath before he breaks away from her. Heading back out to Fraser, he lets the door swing shut between himself and Gina, leaving her safely in the foyer. She looks out at him through the glass, and when her gaze slides over to Fraser she looks less amused than anticipating.

"Frase," Ray crouches before him, one hand on the car's doorframe to balance himself. "Come on, come out. Come upstairs." His face is tense, illuminated by the car's inside light and a lone streetlamp. He looks like a stranger.

"Why?" Fraser whispers, and Ray smacks his hand against the front seat, turns his face away.

"Just come upstairs," he says. "Come upstairs, okay?" his voice is almost plaintive. "I wanna give you something."

"Ray..."

"You need this, okay? You deserve... God, you deserve everything, Fraser. Let me give you just this one thing, okay? Just, Merry Christmas, happy solstice, happy Inuit winter-fun festival, whatever." He turns back to face Fraser, and there is something vast and incomprehensible in his eyes. "You can pretend I'm not there. Or pretend I'm someone else, if you want. Or, or... I don't have to be there. I could go, and you two could... you could... Let me do this, Fraser. Look, Gina's a nice girl, and she's got, she's got that long dark hair you like, and she's feisty, she's tough like Janet--she's what you like, isn't she? Isn't she what you like?"

Fraser's pulse is pounding in his ears. He has a headache. There is a terrible, hollow sensation in his chest, as if something vital had been scooped out. "Ray," he says, "Please. I just want to go home."

Ray pales. "Frase," he says. "Frase." His gloved hand seizes Fraser's and hangs on tightly. "That's what I want, too, you stubborn Mountie. I want you to _come home_. You're all alone here in Chicago, and I've seen how happy you are in Canada. You need to make a home here, Fraser. If you don't make a home here, there won't be nothing keeping you, and one day it'll be 'So long, Kowalski, it's been real.'" His voice is unsteady and he looks away, huffs out a little puff of air. Looks back up into Fraser's eyes. "You gotta make an effort, buddy. I know you've had a rough time with women, but you gotta put yourself out there, you gotta try. You gotta try to be happy here, because if you leave me... if you leave me, I don't know what I'll do."

"Ray," Fraser says. The hand Ray isn't holding reaches out, almost of its own volition. It makes the long journey over to Ray, to rest on Ray's hair, soft bristles against Fraser's fingers. "I'm not--I'm not very good at these things."

"Tell me about it." Ray rolls his eyes. "That's why you gotta--"

"But what I want... what I... what would be home for me. Isn't..." he looks over at Gina, who is unabashedly staring at them through the glass doors, shaking her head as if at some particularly amusing joke.

Ray follows Fraser's gaze.

"What I... need. I'm sorry if I've misled you, Ray, but..." he forces himself to meet Ray's bemused eyes. "What I need is..." he trails off, helpless. His body leans in closer to Ray's, so close their faces are almost touching. His hand drifts down from Ray's hair to cup Ray's cool cheek.

"Oh," Ray says. _"Oh."_ He looks stunned.

His eyes dart down, lashes casting shadows on his face. When he looks back up at Fraser, his face is touched with wonder.

Outside, it begins to snow.

 _  
**So This is Not the Place, F/K**   
_

**Author's Note:**

> This one was written for Jamethiel Bane for the due South Seekrit Santa 2007, I think, with many thanks to nos4a2no9 for all her help and encouragement. Inspired by kill_claudio's ds_shakespeare challenge, where the quote "And when you do dance, I wish you a wave o'th' sea, that you might ever do nothing but that" made me think of dancing Ray Kowalski, and Killa's gorgeous Xena/Ares vid "Salome," which I played on an endless repeat loop as I wrote. The story owes a lot to these fantastic influences.


End file.
